Fun and Games
by ensm2121
Summary: Free of his last accomplice, Miguel, Dexter Morgan's relaxation time is cut short when Miami Metro PD begins investigating a serial killer targeting families in their vacation homes. Will Dexter be able to administer his own sweet brand of justice or will Paul and Peter escape?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Many thanks to my beta reader, Celestial Nightmare._

_Fun __and __Games, Chapter One_

"Dex!" came the loud voice of Dexter's sister, Debra. She was standing at the door to Dexter's blood lab.

_What now? _thought Dexter. Dexter swiveled his chair around to face her. "Yeah, Deb?" he asked.

"We're having a dispatch meeting. LaGuerta says you have to be there," she said. Dexter sighed, got out of his chair, and followed her to the dispatch room.

LaGuerta was standing at the front of the room, next to a large screen.

"Everyone here?" she asked when she saw Debra and Dexter enter the room. She nodded slightly as if agreeing with herself. "We can begin then."

After she spoke she turned the screen on with a remote control, revealing a picture of a happy-looking family with a man, a woman, and a little girl.

"Fred and Eve Thompson with their daughter, Jenny."

She changed the screen to the next slide. This one had two separate pictures on it. One was of Fred Thompson on the floor in a pool of blood. The other was of Jenny Thompson in the bathroom. She looked as if she had been shot, and there was blood spatter all over the walls.

"Fred and Jenny Thompson as they were found last night in their vacation home. A relative came to check on them because they had not been answering their cell phones. She saw the bodies and immediately called the police."

"Where's Mrs. Thompson?" asked Angel 'No Relation' Batista from his seat.

LaGuerta glanced at him. "Nobody's seen or spoke to her in the past few days."

Angel smiled and said, "So she's our prime suspect!"

LaGuerta nodded again.

"How were they killed?" came Debra's voice. "Shot, right?"

"Yeah. Both of them."

Debra speculated, "So, mom flies off the handle for whatever reason-"

"-grabs a gun, kills her husband and daughter and then goes into hiding," finished Angel.

"Most likely," LaGuerta said, "but we need to keep an open mind when we go into the scene."

It wasn't hard to figure out why Dexter was needed at the crime scene. There was blood everywhere_._ Spatter up and down the walls, pools of it on the floor, even a few drops were found on a lamp stand in an otherwise untouched room.

Dexter couldn't help but feel - what he guessed was - a little bit of sympathy towards the victims. What he did know for sure, though, was that he hadn't had one of his 'moonlit missions' since Miguel and he was beginning to feel that old, familiar whine of his Dark Passenger again.

Debra found a pair of boys' tennis shoes, jeans and socks on the patio outside the Thompson's home.

"That's odd," she commented, "the Thompson's don't have a son."

"So, Dex," Masuka was saying, as he and Dexter searched the living room, "are you up for tonight? I'm thinking two Taiwanese hookers-"

Ignoring Masuka, which is the only manner one should handle Masuka in Dexter's opinion, Dexter noticed something odd. It was just a blur of colours, but there was something under the couch cushions.

"Masuka," said Dexter suddenly.

Masuka stopped halfway through his previous sentence. "Yeah?"

"Have you checked under the cushions?"

Masuka frowned slightly. "No. Why?"

Dexter leaned over and removed the cushions from the couch. Hidden underneath was a golf club. The tip of it was bent slightly. Blood was smeared on both the tip and the handle.

"A golf club?" Masuka asked, confused. "Both victims were killed with a gun."

"Why would a golf club be under a couch cushion? It's almost as if-" Dexter started.

Masuka said, "Almost as if what?"

"As if someone was trying to hide it."

_Looks like I've made a Hole-In-One, _Dexter joked to himself.

When Dexter and all the evidence collected were back at Miami Metro PD, Debra set course to interrogate Dexter.

"So, what did you find?" she asked. "Angel said you found something big."

Dexter became I'm-Fond-of-You-but-You're-Exasperating-Dexter. "In the living room, under the couch cushions. A golf club."

"A golf club?" asked Debra. "What's so great about a fuckin' golf club?"

"What's so great about a 'fuckin' golf club' is that someone tried to hide it."

"Why would someone hide a golf club?" Debra asked.

Dexter sighed. "That's why I ran it by the lab."

"And? What'd they find?" Debra asked eagerly.

"Well, we couldn't pull any DNA from the blood on it, but there was something else."

"Jesus-fucking-Christ, Dex," said Debra, frustrated. "Just tell me already!"

"Saliva," Dexter said. "All over it."

Debra had that look she sometimes got; the one that Dexter had learned meant that she was happy on the inside, but wasn't about to let you know it.

"Dexter, that's awesome!" she said. "Do you think we can match it to Eve Thompson?"

Dexter paused. There was something... familiar about this case. He swore he had seen a murder like this before.

"Yeah, Deb," he said, eager to get rid of her in order to check up on his hunch. "Ask Masuka to compare it to Jenny Thompson's DNA."

Debra nodded and left. Dexter flipped on his computer and ran a quick search for similar cases. Two articles, both old newspaper clippings from Michigan, stood out to him:

__TWO FOUND DEAD IN SECOND HOME__

_Terrence Sprouse and his son, Samuel Sprouse, were found dead last Thursday night in their vacation home by Mrs. Elmira Layman, aged fifty-three._

_Mrs. Layman described the murder scene between flurries of tears. "It was ghastly," she said. "There was...blood...everywhere. All over the walls."_

_She then burst into sobbing from recalling the distressing scene. Once she regained her composure, she continued to recount her story, "They were beaten...to death. Whoever did it...the...worst that could possibly happen to them!"_

The article continued, but it was mostly about what good up-standing citizens the two victims had been.

The next article was much more interesting:

__MOTHER OF PREVIOUS VICTIMS FOUND IN NEARBY LAKE__

_The body of Patricia Sprouse, whom the police have been searching for the past week in relation to the murder of Terrence and Samuel Sprouse (Patricia Sprouse's husband and son, respectively), was discovered by local fishermen in Lake Wittecombe. The Sprouse family owned a second_

_home on the lake's edge, where the bodies of Samuel and Terrence Sprouse were discovered a week ago. The local police are stunned, as __Sprouse had been the prime suspect in her family's murder._

It's not Eve Thompson, Dexter realized. But whoever it is, they already belong to me.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Once again many, many thanks to my super beta, Celestial Nightmare._

_Fun and Games, Chapter Two_

Dexter was listening to the conversation about the Thompson case, gleaning information he could use for his 'hobby'.

"So what have we got so far?" LaGuerta asked.

"The bullet wounds in both of the victims match a shotgun owned by Fred Thompson. It wasn't found at the scene. And Dexter found a golf club under the couch cushions in the living room. There was saliva all over it," Debra told LaGuerta.

Masuka added, "I ran the golf club- to try and match it to Eve Thompson."

"And?"

Masuka spoke; "It didn't match Jenny Thompson's DNA."

"So she's not her biological daughter?" questioned LaGuerta.

"That's what I thought too," Debra said, "so I went back to the scene and found Eve Thompson's toothbrush."

"And?" LaGuerta asked again.

"No match either," said Masuka.

"I even compared it to Eve Thompson's mother's DNA. No match," said Debra. "She swears Thompson is her biological daughter. Even offered to show me the video of her giving birth."

Masuka chuckled crudely and elbowed Dexter in the ribs. Dexter smiled a brisk smile in return and imagined himself shoving a knife straight through Masuka's throat.

"So the saliva isn't hers?" LaGuerta said, ignoring Masuka's perverseness. "If it's not Thompson's, then who's is it?"

"That's the million-fucking-dollar question," said Debra.

"Was there anything else about the DNA?" LaGuerta asked Masuka.

"It belongs, based on the genomes, to a younger white male," said Masuka.

"So we're looking for a young, white male in Miami?" Debra said. "That'll be as easy as fucking pie-"

"Guys," interrupted Angel as he walked into the room seeking attention, "a call just came in over the radio. Two bodies were just discovered. A father and a son," Angel said. "And guess which lake they were found at?"

Debra let out a breath. "The same one the Thompsons were found at?" She guessed.

"You're one hell of a guesser," said Angel.

"Well, let's get over there!" she said. They all started out. Dexter tried to slip away; he wanted to scour the lake for Eve Thompson's - and probably this new woman's - body.

"You better come too, Dex," Angel said to Dexter. "There's blood everywhere."

This vacation home was nicer than the other one. It had two stories and a dock on the lake. When Debra saw the dock, she asked, "I thought The Farbers-" (that was the name of the newest victims; a man named George Farber Senior and a boy named George Farber Junior) "- owned a boat? Shouldn't it be at the dock?"

"That's where boats go," Dexter said. Dexter remembered for a brief moment about the time he and Cody had gone fishing on Dexter's boat, the _Slice of Life_. Then he wondered if George Farber Senior and his son ever went fishing on this very lake. It was ironic, in a twisted way. His victims were several miles under the water he and Cody had fished at; and Ann Farber was now at the bottom of the lake the George Farbers may have fished at.

Upon entry of the house, the first thing everyone saw were two bags of golf clubs.

"A club's missing!" Debra called as she bent down to inspect a bag.

"You think these could match the one found at the other scene?" Dexter asked her.

"Maybe," she replied. She began bagging the bag of clubs.

Everyone else continued into the house. Angel turned to the right and into the living room. Masuka and Dexter went to the kitchen, which was on the other side of the main hallway.

Masuka went to open the refrigerator door. "Ugh," he said, looking disgustedly at his latex gloved hand. "More saliva. How do you get saliva onto everything, anyway?"

Dexter shrugged. "Maybe they put their mouths on everything?"

Masuka laughed that laugh of his. Then he opened a counter drawer. "Knives," he told Dexter what was in the drawer.

"On the way here, Angel said Farber Senior had knife wounds," Dexter said.

"None of the knives have blood on them," Masuka said.

Dexter said, "Then the knife responsible isn't in there."

Masuka closed the drawer. "But we still have to bag 'em and run 'em," he said.

"Come on; we'll do that later," Dexter said. He turned and started toward the living room where Angel was studying the body of a boy - George Farber Junior, Dexter presumed. There was a sheet over the body, but Dexter could make out enough of the body to realize something strange.

"He's not wearing pants," Dexter said. "You think he could have been raped?"

"Maybe," Angel said, a bit of some emotion Dexter guessed was sadness in his voice. "I'll ask the coroners to check."

"Why is he covered in a sheet?"

"No idea," Angel said. "That's how he was found."

Dexter surveyed the room. Two couches, a blood-spattered TV, a blue recliner; basic living room furniture.

_Nice place_, Dexter thought. _Minus all the blood.  
_

"Is that the senior George Farber?" Dexter asked Angel, pointing at the body on the other side of the room. This one wasn't covered in a sheet, and he was fully clothed.

Angel nodded. "He was found like that as well."

Debra's voice came from the hallway. "Everyone! Guess what I just fucking found outside!" She walked into the living room; with Masuka following on her heels.

"What?" Angel asked.

"A fucking double-barreled shotgun!" she said. "I think it could be the murder weapon!"

Once all the evidence that could be found was collected (including a bloody kitchen knife with a saliva-covered handle found in the living room, its bloodless cousins from the kitchen, the hallway golf clubs, a tiny white thread found on the loveseat in the living room, and a knocked-over saliva-covered lamp), Dexter thought that he could finally get away and drag the lake for the bodies of Eve Thompson and Ann Farber, but no such luck. Debra _insisted_ that he come to the briefing meeting ("Dex, I can't do this without you. You have this... fucking 'psychic power' when it comes to these things. Like when you found that golf club! Please, Dex!").

After Angel and Debra went over everything they had so far with LaGuerta, Masuka (who had been in the lab, analysizing) came in and said, "The saliva found at the Farber home matches the saliva found at the Thompson scene."

"So the two are definitely related?" LaGuerta asked.

"Definitely," Masuka said. LaGuerta drew in a small breath, registering what that meant.

Nobody spoke until Dexter said, "Looks like we have a serial killer on our hands."


	3. Chapter 3

_Once again, thanks to my beta, Celestial Nightmare. Go read some of her stories!_

_Fun and Games, Chapter Three_

A blonde-haired man and his similar looking companion sat in a white our-door car outside of a small diner, waiting and watching the front door of the building.

"I'm worried about your health, Tubby," the man said to his companion. "Why did you have to eat so much in the restaurant? Couldn't you have controlled yourself? It's really disgusting."

His companion scowled. "Quit calling me Tubby all the time!"

"Fine," the man said, rolling his eyes. Then, something caught his eye. A family of four: a mom, dad, and two children. "Look what's over there." The man nodded in the direction of the family.

His companion smiled. "Is that next?" he asked in his soft voice.

The man nodded again and then started the car. He waited until the family got into their own vehicle - a blue minivan. Then he drove behind the family for an hour or so. The family turned onto a dusty road that led up to a large attractive house.

He drove past the house and stopped outside the house next door. He took note of the house's number, what street it was on and, more importantly, the name on the mailbox: _Lawson_. Content with his plan, he then drove back to the large, attractive house.

The man's outfit consisted of a long-sleeved white polo shirt, white golf shorts, and white Converse shoes. His companion's outfit consisted of a short-sleeved polo shirt, black golf shorts, and black Converse shoes. Both wore white cotton gloves, and yellow parkas, which hid parts of their outfits.

The watchers walked up to the door.

"Whose turn is it?" His companion asked.

"Mine," the man said. "The Thompsons were mine, the Farbers were yours, the Phillips mine, and then the Dorans yours." His companion walked off, in order to survey the house and its surrounding lands. The man approached the front door and rang the doorbell.

The mother, a red-haired woman who appeared to be in her early forties, answered the door.

"Yes?" she asked the man. "How may I help you?"

"Hello, ma'am," he said politely. "My friend and I are visiting the Lawsons next door. Mrs. Lawson ran out of eggs and she was wondering if she could borrow some from you?"

The red-haired woman considered this for a minute. The men had banked on her being friendly towards Mrs. Lawson, and luckily Mrs. Lawson was a bedridden elderly woman who she was friends with. However, the red-haired woman was not great friends with her or she would have known that Mrs. Lawson did not have visitors that day. "Okay," she said. "How many does she need?"

"Four," the man said. The woman went to the refrigerator and retrieved a carton of eggs. The man followed her into the kitchen. He noticed that there were only eight eggs in the carton.

"Would you like them wrapped?" the woman asked.

He shook his head slightly. "No, they're fine as they are." She handed him the eggs. "Thank you. I'll be sure to tell Mrs. Lawson how nice you are," the man said, starting out to the hallway.

"Well-" she began, but a swear from the hallway cut her off. There was yolk and bits of eggs everywhere. "What happened?"

"I dropped the eggs," he said. "I'm sorry. Really."

"It's no big deal," said the red-haired woman. She went to the kitchen and retrieved a rag. She picked up the fragments of egg and wiped the yolk. She opened the refrigerator again and took out the blueish-gray carton that held the remaining four eggs. She handed it to him.

"Thank you. You're very nice," the man said and exited the house through the front door. His companion still stood on the outside of the house. His companion had been surveying the layout of the house and nearby land.

"Well?" he said.

"The nearest neighbours are through those trees," his companion nodded in the direction of the surrounding woods. "No-one will hear."

"Good," the man said.

He opened the carton and took out a, pristine white egg. He dropped it onto the ground. Then he took another and slowly, one at a time, smashed every egg. "Oops," he said, softly. He and his companion both smiled. "Come on," the man said and led the way to the front door.

He rang the doorbell again. Once again, the red-haired woman opened the door.

"Hello?" she said. "Oh, it's you."

"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but the eggs..."

She frowned. "What about the eggs?"

"They broke," his companion said. "Do you have any more?"

"No, I'm sorry," she said. "That was my only carton."

"Well..." the man said, "...may we come inside? We can help you search for some."

She shook her head. "No. I'm sorry-" As she went to close the door, the man fought back roughly and he and his companion barged into the house.

"Charles!" the woman cried. Her husband came rushing down the stairs.

"Yeah, Vic?" her husband asked. The woman's husband noticed the two oddly-dressed men. "Hello," her husband greeted them, and then addressed his wife. "What's wrong?"

"They won't leave!" she said. "I asked them politely, but they came inside anyway."

"Will you please just leave?" her husband asked the two men.

The man smirked. "No, _old man_." He raised his fist and punched the woman's husband hard across his face. Knocked out, the woman's husband fell onto the ground as the woman tried to lunge at the smirking man, but his companion grabbed her around the waist and held her back.

The man shook his head. "Such fuss. And for what reason?" He rolled his eyes, and then smiled a smarmy smile. "Now, we're going to play a game." He pulled something out of his pocket. It was a golf ball. "What is this?" He asked his companion and the woman.

No one spoke.

"Well?" he prompted to his companion after a minute of silence.

"It's a golf ball," his companion said.

"Correct!" the man said. "It's a golf ball. But why do I have it here in my pocket?"

Once more, his questions were answered only with silence. He looked at his companion expectantly.

"Because you took it."

"Good," the man said. "But where did I take it from?"

"The Farbers," his companion said.

"And when did I take it?"

"After we killed them!" his companion said. And then he laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

_Fun and Games, Chapter Four_

The man took an old wooden umbrella stand that had been untouchd in the hallway for years and slammed it onto the woman's husband's legs. The woman screamed and, gently being let go by the companion, ran to her unconscious husband. She knelt down by her husband and hugged him tightly.

"I'm sorry that I hurt him," the man said. "But you must admit, you two weren't being very friendly."

The woman looked up at him with a mixture of contempt and fear.

The man addressed his companion. "Peter, help our sleeping host into the living room. I have to do something."

His companion, Peter, nodded. He grabbed the husband from under his arms and began to haul him into the nearby living room.

The red-haired woman started to follow after them. The man grabbed her by the elbow.

"You stay here," he told her, smirking. He pulled her along by the elbow into the kitchen.

"Where is your phone?" the man asked her.

She pointed to a cell phone underneath a dishrag. The man picked it up and went back into the hallway.

Delicately, he placed the phone onto the floor. He took the umbrella stand he had used to smash the husband's leg, held it high, and then sent it soaring down onto the phone. The cell phone easily smashed into pieces.

The red-haired woman let out a cry and bent to pick up the fragments of her phone.

"It's no use now," the man told her. "Let's join your husband and Tom in the living room."

The woman looked confused. "Who?" She asked.

The man ignored her question. He grabbed her elbow once again. "Let's join them in the living room," he repeated gruffly. He forced her into the living room.

On the couch lay the husband, a fleece blanket tucked over his legs. Peter sat calmly on the couch across from the husband, his legs crossed politely.

"Have a seat," the man instructed the red-haired woman.

She sat begrudgingly.

"Is he awake?" the man asked his companion, pointing his thumb in the general direction of the woman's husband, who seemed to be stirring. The man sat down on the couch, next to his companion. He sat with his legs widely open, a blatant display of dominance.

"Oh, yes," said the companion. "He's waking up."

"What now?" the man asked.

In his soft voice, Peter said, "We haven't properly introduced ourselves."

"Good point, Tom," the man said, getting off of the couch. He extended his hand to the now fully awake husband. "I'm Paul." The husband's hands did not move.

"I introduced myself," Paul said, sounding angry. "It's polite to introduce yourself. Now do it!" He struck the man's face once again, this time only as a simple slap.

"Charles Toney," the husband said, his hand pressed to his throbbing face.

"And you, ma'am?" Paul asked the woman.

Not wanting her family or herself injured further, she replied, "Victoria Toney."

"Good," Paul smiled. "As I said, I am Paul. This...," he pointed at Peter, "...is Peter. Where are your manners, Tubby? Come offer the man your hand."

Peter scurried off of the couch. He extended his hand to the husband, Charles Toney. Charles Toney shook it. Both he and Peter had learned that not doing as Paul said ended in pain.

Paul sighed contently and sat on the couch opposite Charles Toney. He leaned back onto the couch cushion. "Have a seat, Tom," Paul told Peter.

"But where are the children?" asked Peter.

"I haven't thought of that," Paul said. He sat up. "Where are the children you were with, ma'am?"

Victoria looked at him in fear. She did not want these two men to harm her children. She said nothing.

Paul repeated, "Where are they?" Everyone could sense his sudden anger.

Still, Victoria said nothing.

"Peter, help her out," Paul demanded.

Obediently, Peter walked to Victoria and grabbed her off of the couch.

"It's easier for you if you answer," Peter told her quietly. No response from her. "I'm sorry I have to do this."

Then he raised his hand and backhanded her. Hard. She fell onto the floor and began to sob.

Charles Toney tried to stand and help his wife, but he couldn't even sit up. His legs were probably both broken. Peter looked at the woman with a mixture of pity, regret, and calm on his face. Paul just rolled his eyes from where he sat watching the debacle on the couch.

"So much stress," Paul said, "just for a simple answer. This could have been avoided. All you have to do is answer."

Finally, the woman spoke; "Upstairs. They're both upstairs. Probably in their room, on the computer."

Paul smiled. "See? It wasn't that hard, was it?" The woman looked at him with disgust. He ignored the look. "Beavis, bring the rest of our hosts downstairs."

Peter nodded and left the living room.

The three in the living room sat in silence. Then, Charles Toney asked, "Why?"

"What do you mean?" Paul asked him, a light smile on his face.

"Why are you doing this?"

Paul did not answer for a moment. Then, slowly, he replied, "Why not?"

Charles Toney just looked down at the fleece blanket that covered his legs.

Minutes later, Peter came into the room, two red-haired children thrown over his shoulder. Both were unconscious. Peter threw their bodies onto the couch their parents were on.

Victoria leapt to her feet. She ran at Peter. He grabbed her easily and punched her in the lower stomach. She clutched at the spot he punched and doubled over onto the floor, gasping.

"What did you do to them?" Charles Toney asked.

"Don't worry about it," Peter said, his voice softer than normal. He sat down next to Paul.

Paul clapped his hands together in joy. "Okay, now we're all here," Paul said. "What time is it?" he asked Peter.

Peter looked at the watch on his wrist. "Almost six," he said.

"Okay. It's time to make a bet. We...," he ran his hand through the air, in the area he and Peter were in, "...bet that by six o'clock tomorrow morning, you'll...," he pointed in the direction of the four family members, "...be...," he ran a hand across his throat, "...gone."

"What?" Charles Toney asked, his brow crinkled in confusion.

Paul restated; "You bet that you'll be alive tomorrow at six o'clock and we bet that you'll be _dead_."

He let that sink in with the Toney family. "Okay, as they say on TV: Let the games begin!"


	5. Chapter 5

_Fun and Games, Chapter Five_

---

The meeting over, Dexter made his way "home". In reality, he was going to the lake where the Thompsons and Farbers were found to drag the lake for bodies. If he found any, he would use them against their murderer, just like he did to Mike Donovan.

He was driving his car toward the marina his boat- the _Slice of Life_- was docked in, when all of a sudden a white car drove dangerously in front of him. He swerved and barely missed crashing into the car.

He brushed aside the encounter and kept driving to the marina. Once there, he parked his car and climbed onto his boat. Luckily, the lake outpoured into the Atlantic Ocean. Dexter easily sailed his boat through the channel and onto the main body of the lake.

After hours of probing the lake with a giant fishing net, Dexter pulled up something. He hauled it up and threw it into the boat. He realized what it was: the water-logged body of a female, dressed in a yellow parka.

He pulled out a picture of Eve Thompson. She did not match the body. Eve Thompson had black hair; this body had blonde hair.

_Hello, Ann Farber, _Dexter thought. He took out his camera and took a picture of her body before he wrapped the body in a plastic sheet. He searched for more bodies in the lake, but to no avail. Dexter's cell phone rang and he answered it.

"Dex," came the voice of Debra. "Turn the TV on channel fifteen! The press got a hold of the Thompson and Farber case somehow."

"Fuck!" Dexter swore to himself. This could make the murderer flee Miami. He'd never be able to administer his own brand of sweet justice if the guy was in a different country.

He cruised his boat back to the marina as quickly as possible. He docked the boat and jogged to his car. Speeding the entire way home, Dexter managed to get to a TV just a few minutes before the news segment went off.

The name of the segment was "Lakeside Murderer?" The overly tanned newswoman was saying, "...a terrible tragedy. The Miami Dade Police Department had nothing to say, but the public demands answers. Is their family at risk? And who will 'The Lakeside Murderer' strike next?"

Dexter pulled out his cell phone and dialed Debra back.

"Did you see it?" she asked.

He nodded his head, but did not speak.

Sensing his nod, Debra continued, "LaGuerta's having an unplanned meeting. Captain Matthews wants to know how the press got a hold of the Thompson and Farber case."

"Do I really have to come, Deb? There isn't that much blood..."

"Everyone in the station does, Dex," Debra said. "Even people not in the case."

"Alright," Dexter said, sighing. For the second time, he got into his car and drove to the MDPD station.

Once there, he snuck into the meeting room quietly, trying to avoid detection. He didn't want to have to answer any questions about where he had been in the time between the last meeting and now.

Dexter noticed a man in a suit standing off to the side of the room. _I wonder who that is,_ Dexter thought.

"The press," LaGuerta was telling everyone in the overly-crowded room, "has gotten a hold of the Thompson and Farber cases. They are calling whoever is responsible the 'Lakeside Murderer'. This may-" she paused for a split-second, "-make the killer leave Miami, maybe even the country."

"How'd the press find out?" Angel asked.

LaGuerta looked at him and shrugged slightly. "I don't know. But whoever it is- their job is terminated," she said seriously.

"What are we going to do?" Deb asked.

"If the press tries to get you talk," LaGuerta said, "do not talk to them. We just need to resolve this case as quickly as possible. Anyway, everyone this is Barry Belanger. He is a criminal profiler with the FBI and is here to _help_ us with the Thompson and Farber case. Mr. Belanger," she finished, motioning him to talk.

"Hello," said the man, Barry Belanger, smiling at the people in the room. "As Ms. LaGuerta-"  
Masuka and Debra both snickered and Dexter thought, _'Ms. LaGuerta' ?_

"-said, I am Barry Belanger. I have been updated on the case and have come up with a possible profile." He turned on the screen and a PowerPoint presentation began.

"I believe that the murderer is a white male, possibly in his late forties, early fifties. He works alone." He changed the screen to the next slide of the PowerPoint.

"He had a bad childhood - didn't know his father, had multiple siblings, maybe even an incestuous relationship with his mother." He changed the screen again.

"He has poor social skills. He wants relationships with women desperately, but can't attain it." Yet again, he changed the screen.

"He has a very addictive personality - possibly a drug addict. Heroin, I'd say," he said. With that, his presentation ended. Masuka and Deb were barely containing their laughter.

LaGuerta took the floor. "Thank you, Mr. Belanger, for that," LaGuerta paused, searching for the right words to say, "eye-opening presentation."

Barry Belanger beamed at her. "You're very welcome."

"Yes," LaGuerta said. She gave Masuka and Debra a deadly look. They regained themselves quietly. "To review," she said, as if they were too stupid to remember what had _just_ happened, "do not talk to the press and-" a slight smile appeared on her own face "- be on the lookout for a white male in his forties or fifties in Miami. Now, Masuka."

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Masuka asked.

"Run the saliva through the database and look for any criminals who match the description Mr. Belanger gave."

"But, Lieutenant-" he started to protest.

"Right now, Masuka!"

Masuka nodded and scurried off.

"Detective Morgan, go to-"

"LaGuerta!" A secretary who had not been at the meeting-_ Looks like when Deb says' everyone', it didn't include secretaries, _Dexter thought- burst into the room. "The dispatchers just called in- another family on vacation!"

"Oh God," LaGuerta said. "What's the address?"

"At first I didn't think anything about it. I just thought it was a standard homicide- until I heard where it was," the secretary said excitedly. "The same lake as the others!"

"Amy, tell Detectives Batista and Morgan exactly what the dispatcher said," LaGuerta ordered Amy.

Amy the secretary nodded nervously and Debra led her to the side of the room.

Barry Belanger was obviously enjoying this twist of events. "Ms. LaGuerta, I was wondering if I could come to the crime scene as well," he said. "It would help me to better understand the killer."  
Sighing slightly, LaGuerta said, "If it's alright with Dexter, you can ride over with him." Belanger smiled.

Dexter frowned. _Of course,_ he thought, _Me, with my moonlit_ _missions, has to ride to the crime scene with the criminal profiler. _The frown quickly disappeared_. I cannot risk making him suspicious in anyway. Or else he will suspect me. _"I don't mind," Dexter said, making the most charming and friendly face he could muster.

"Great," Belanger said. There was nothing in his face, as far as Dexter could tell, that indicated he had noticed Dexter's hesitation to answer. "Please, lead the way," Belanger said.

The meeting dissolved. Masuka had already gone; Angel and Debra went with Amy the secretary; LaGuerta by herself; and Dexter with Belanger.


	6. Chapter 6

_Fun and Games, Chapter Six_

---

Belanger reminded Dexter of a typical FBI agent on TV. Tanned skin under a white suit, bleached-white teeth, walnut-brown wavy hair. He also acted as Dexter thought he would. He was cocky, almost to the point of being arrogant.

Currently, he was telling Dexter all about some case where he had profiled the killer exactly down to the last minute detail. "And then I told them, I said- 'I don't care what DNA you found, this guy probably hasn't seen his Johnson since third grade'!" He laughed, and Dexter laughed as well. Dexter didn't want this guy to suspect anything was off about him.

Dexter pulled into the driveway of the scene. "We're here," he announced.

"Excellent," Belanger said, climbing out of the car. Dexter followed.

Angel and Deb were already at the scene. Angel was bent over, examining the body of a blonde woman in a white shirt with a pink sweater wrapped around her shoulders.

"Where's Masuka?" Dexter asked them.

Debra looked at Belanger and then said, "He can't come. He's going through the DNA database - for LaGuerta," she finished.

Dexter realized that she would have answered differently if Belanger was not there. "So, what have we got?"

"Five victims-"

Dexter asked, "_Five _victims? Why five this time?"

Debra shrugged. "No idea. Anyway, five victims: Robert and Betsy Phillips are the parents of Darren Phillips. Susanne and Craig Walling. Susanne is Robert's sister and Craig is her husband."

"And they're all there?" Dexter asked. "No one's in the lake or any-"

Debra furrowed her brow and frowned. "In the lake?"

Realizing what he had accidentally said, he quickly talked himself out of the mess. "I mean, there's no more bodies?"

Slowly, Debra shook her head. "No. Anyway. They were beaten to death."

"Beaten? But all the rest were shot with a shotgun," Belanger said.

"The shotgun was found at the other scene," Debra told him.

"So what were they beaten to death with?"

For the first time, Angel spoke, "That lamp over there, possibly." He pointed toward his right with his thumb. Dexter walked over there and Belanger followed behind him.

There was a bloody table lamp. Dexter pulled two pairs of gloves out of his pocket and put one pair on, then gave Belanger the other pair. "Put them on," Dexter instructed him. "Or you won't be able to touch anything."

Belanger put the gloves on.

Dexter leaned over and examined the table lamp. The light bulb was shattered, the lamp shade completely crooked and the base of the lamp was slightly dented. The lamp was sitting in a pool of blood.

"What I don't understand is how a single man in his forties or fifties can subdue five grown adults," Debra was saying.

Masuka said, "It looks like each of them has a broken knee." He examined Robert Phillips' knees and then Betsy Phillips' knees. "His are both broken but only her left one is."

"I still don't understand," Debra said. "How did the killer managed to subdue them long enough to break all of their knees?"

"Maybe there's more than one killer," Dexter suggested, thinking of Miguel Prado.

Debra blinked in surprise. "You mean, like a serial killer duo? I guess it's possible but-" she looked at Belanger, "-it doesn't fit with the profile."

"No," Belanger said, "it doesn't fit with the profile at all. This guy has inept social skills. He wouldn't be able to build and maintain a close enough relationship to do this kind of thing with someone else."

"It was just a suggestion," Dexter said, shrugging. He walked a few steps away from Belanger. He wanted to examine the scene more carefully, and Belanger was a distraction. However, Belanger followed him.

"What's this over here?" Dexter asked no-one in particular.

"Looks like...." Belanger said, "a bloody shoe."

It was. It was a black Converse shoe covered in blood.

"What's 'Converse'?" Belanger asked.

"It's a brand of shoe," Deb told him from across the room. "Usually worn by teenagers."

Dexter opened the flap of the shoe. "Men's size nine."

"Size nine?" Belanger asked. "On average, that makes whoever shoes these are about 5'6". Damn, he's short."

"So," Dexter said, "we're looking for a forty-something-year-old, short, white male." Something seemed off about that profile.

Dexter photographed the shoe. Then he took a sample of the blood and bagged the shoe. He continued examining the room; Belanger followed behind him. Dexter found further evidence behind a side table.

"What'd you find?" Belanger asked him, peering over Dexter's shoulder.

"Bloody hammer," Dexter informed him. "This could also be a murder weapon." He bagged the hammer as well.

Belanger commented, "There's a lot of blood here."

"That's what happens when five people are beaten to death," Debra said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Belanger did not reply. He just continued following Dexter around the scene.

Dexter asked, "Angel?"

"Yeah?" Angel asked from his spot above the cadaver of a woman.

"What did the coroner say? About George Farber Junior?" Dexter asked. "Was he raped?"

"No," Angel said, shaking his head. "Jenny Thompson wasn't either. In fact, no one was."

_Good,_ Dexter thought. _Children shouldn't have to go through that. _Dexter did not say anything. Instead, he walked across the room - Belanger following behind him - and looked at some odd patterns in the carpet.

"It looks like someone was dragged across the carpet," Dexter muttered. He also took a photograph of the marks in the carpet. "Where's the telephone in this house?" he asked.

"The kitchen," Angel informed him. Dexter and Belanger went into to the kitchen. The phone was on the gray-colored granite table. It was smashed into pieces. Dexter photographed the phone. Then he gently lifted the largest part of the phone.

As if Dexter couldn't see the phone, Belanger said, "Someone's smashed it to pieces."

Dexter did not respond. He continued his examination of the phone. _The side of the phone is-_

"Everyone! Get the fuck out here!" Debra's voice came from somewhere outside.

"What is it, Deb?" Dexter asked.

Her voice continued, "Call an ambulance! Now!"

"Jesus Christ, Deb," Dexter said as he walked to the door. "What is it?"

"There's a person out here! An alive person!" Debra yelled.

Belanger, Angel and Dexter all ran outside the house. Lying on the ground was a girl who looked about nineteen years old. Angel whipped out his radio and called for medical help.

"It'll be alright," Debra said, clutching the girl's hand. The girl muttered a few incoherent words and closed her eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

_Fun and Games, chapter seven_

_---_

"Eeny meeny miney moe," Paul said, moving his right hand back and forth between the four bound family members. "Catch the tiger by his toe, if he hollers let him go, eeny meeny miney moe." His hand ended up pointing at the boy child. "How old are you?" he asked the boy.

The boy did not responded. "Hello? Noah? Tell me, how old are you?"

"Twelve," the boy, Noah, told him nervously.

Paul began counting again. "One, two, three," he said. His hand pointed at the mom, Victoria Toney. "Four, five, six," his hand pointed at the daughter, Alyssa Toney. "Seven, eight, nine," pointing at Noah Toney. "Ten, eleven, twelve," his hand pointed at Charles Toney.

"It's his turn first," Paul told Peter. Peter nodded solemnly and stood up. "Unless the lady wants to fill in for him," Paul said, motioning towards Victoria Toney. She said nothing and did nothing. Peter walked to Charles, a leg of a heavy wooden table in his hand.

"Now?" Peter asked.

Paul nodded. Peter lifted the table leg. With a smile on his face, he slammed it into the back of Charles Toney's head. Charles let out a blood-curdling scream as blood began pouring out of his skull. He slumped down on the couch. Victoria tried to stand up to help him but couldn't. Paul and Peter had broken her knees as well. The children began to sob.

Peter looked at Paul. Paul nodded, and Peter clobbered Charles on the head again.

"Please!" Victoria shouted, tears flowing from her face.

Paul smiled at her. "It's his turn," Paul told her. "It's too late to step in for him. " He looked at Peter. "That's enough, Tubby. For now."

"What should we do now?" Peter asked.

"Let's play a game," Paul said. "A family game."

Peter asked, "Can we involve the children?"

"Okay, Tubby. You take Alyssa," Paul instructed Peter. Peter grabbed the girl and held her in place. Paul took the other child, Noah.

Peter frowned. "But I wanted the boy."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Fine," he pushed the boy towards Peter and grabbed the girl by her shoulders. "I don't care." Both of the children look terrified. They saw what Peter had done to their father.

"Now what?" Peter asked Paul.

"Now we play the game," Paul said. "Here's how: One of these two are going to live, the other is going to die. We decide by taki-" At that moment, Charles woke up. He rolled around on the floor pitifully, moaning and clutching the back of his head.

"He's awake," Peter said. "What should we do?"

Paul thought about this. "Hand the boy over here," he instructed Peter. Peter did so. "And..." Paul looked at the pathetic man on the floor with cold, uncaring eyes. "...Kill him."

Peter nodded slightly. Then, he walked across the room and picked up the heavy table leg. He walked back to where the man lay on the ground.

"Please..." Victoria plead. "Don't..."

Peter ignored her. He swung the table leg back and then slammed it onto the man's head. Then again. And again. He beat Charles with the table leg until the man quit moving. Then Peter hit him a few more times for good measure. Victoria and the children sobbed. Peter tried to ignore their cries, but it made him feel a_ little_ bit sad; probably more sad than it made Paul feel.

"Is he still breathing?" Paul asked. Peter kneeled down and felt the man's chest.

"No," Peter told him.

Paul asked, "Heart beat?" Peter felt the man's wrist and then shook his head.

"He's gone," said Peter.

Paul sighed contently. He sat down on the couch. "Good," he said. "Now we continue with the game." He motioned to the children. "Please, have a seat." They did not move. "Have a seat!" He jumped off of the couch and shoved Noah and Alyssa onto the other couch. "Beavis, I think it's time the children's motion is 'impaired'."

Peter said, "Can you do it? My arms kind of hurt from-"  
Paul stared at him as if he had never seen him before. "_Now,_ Tubby!" he demanded.

"But-"

"Now!"

Peter sighed and gave in. "Alright," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, Paul."

"It's okay, Tubby," Paul said. He relaxingly leaned onto the back of the couch. Peter walked to the couch the children sat on. They were crying again.

"I'm sorry," Peter said. He went to grab the girl's leg but the boy lunged at him. He clawed at Peter's face and shoulders.

The boy shouted "Don't touch my sister!" repeatedly; Paul hopped up from where he sat and tried to pull the boy off Peter. The girl ran out of the living room. The sound of a door slamming told everyone that she had fled the house.

At the speed of light, Paul picked up the table leg. He slammed it onto the back of the boy's head. The boy quit scratching at Peter and slumped onto the floor.

"While I'm gone," Paul told Peter as he brushed some of his blond hair out of his face, "Break the boy's neck."

He left the room to go capture the girl.

"Please," Victoria said after Paul had left. "Just leave us alone. Please..."

Peter ignored her cries. He wanted to talk about something else. "I'm glad it's Paul's turn. The pointless begging for the eggs is pretty uncomfortable for me. Degrading." He sat down on the couch across from where she and the boy were.

"You..." Victoria said. She had an idea. She was going to save her family and get help for Charles. Hopefully there was still hope for her husband. "You take turns asking for the eggs?"

"Of course," Peter told her. "How else would it be fair for both of us? How would we gain access to the houses?"

"How many times have you done this?" she asked.

He smiled. "A lot," said Peter. "At least five times this week alone."

"Why?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Don't you feel bad?" she asked. "Can't you feel how much you hurt people?"

"A little bit," he said. "I don't mind much though. Paul says-"

"You talk about Paul a lot," she said. "Why do you let him boss you around?"

He smiled again. "Because he's Paul."


	8. Chapter 8

_Fun and Games, Chapter Eight_

---

"Alyssa?" Paul called. "Alyssa, come out, come out wherever you are." He looked behind the outside shed. He opened the shed door. "It's no use, Alyssa. Tubby has your family."

Alyssa peered at him from inside the shed. She was hiding behind the riding lawn mower.

"Come on, Alyssa," Paul said. He saw the shed and entered it, preying on Alyssa.

Very quickly, he discovered Alyssa in her hiding spot. "Alyssa, you shouldn't have run from me," he said to her.

He grabbed her by her red hair and dragged her out of the shed. She struggled against his hold. Not wanting to have to deal with her moving around, Paul hit her over the head.

"That's better," Paul said as she quit moving. He threw her body over his shoulder and marched back to the house. "Stupid girl..."

---

Back inside the house, Peter held the boy in his arms. "I'm sorry I have to do this," Peter said. He grabbed the boy's neck and twisted it easily. It snapped. Peter threw the boy to the ground.

Tears began to run down Victoria's face. "Why?" was all she could manage to choke out.

Peter took a seat on the couch again. "I'm sorry I had to do that," Peter told her again, "but Paul told me to."

"You don't have to listen to Paul!" she screamed at Peter.

"Yes, I do," he said, smiling. "He's _Paul_. Jerry, Butt-head."

"Honey, I'm home!" came Paul's voice from the hallway. Peter's smile grew larger. Paul entered the living room. "Hi, Beavis," Paul greeted Peter cheerfully. "Everything under control?"

"Looks that way," Peter replied. Paul uncaringly threw the unconscious Alyssa onto the floor.

Paul smiled. "Did you break his neck like I told you to?" Paul asked. Peter nodded.

"Good. Then there's only the two of them left," Paul said. "What should we do?"

Peter said, "Let's play a game."

"Okay, Tubby," Paul said. "What kind of game?"

Peter said, "A fun game. A family game."

"Alright, then," Paul said. "The name of this game is... _To live, you must be active." _He rolled his eyes at the name and then added, "I can't think of any other name."

_  
_"Well, how do you play?" Peter asked.

"First, you need to break both of these two's knees," Paul jerked his thumb in the direction of Alyssa and Victoria.

"Okay," Peter said. He stood up and casually walked over to Victoria. The table leg was broken, so he would have to use his bare hands. "I'm sorry I have to hurt you, but you want to play the game, right?" he asked her.

She shook her head profusely.

"Oh come on," Paul said, "don't be such a coward!"

Peter grabbed Victoria's leg. In a swift motion, he jerked it forward and injured it.

"I don't think it's broken, Tubby," said Paul. "You have to break it completely."

Peter let out a sigh. "Can't you do it? Please? I really-"

"But _Tubby_," said Paul.

"I'm sick of being called 'Tubby' all the time," Peter snapped.

"Okay, _Peter_," Paul said. "Now, please, break her knee."

Angrily, Peter said, "No! I'm always the one who has to-"

Paul stood up. "Fine then. I'll do it myself."

He scanned the room, looking for something he could use to help break Victoria's knee. He spotted an old clock hanging on the wall across the room. He walked over to the clock, removed it from the wall, and walked back to where Victoria sat on the floor. Brutally, he slammed the wall clock into her knee, then into the back of her head. The clock shattered and she slumped to the floor, unconscious.

"Beavis..." Paul said, frowning. He shook his head. He was at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry, Paul," Peter apologized. "It's just- why do I always have to do the work? And you never do anything?"

Paul grew angry. "What the hell are you talking about? I never do anything?"

"That's only because you-" Peter started, then he changed thought. "Never mind, I'm sorry."

"Beavis," Paul said, "if you have something to tell me, say it."

Peter shook his head. "I'm sorry, Paul."

"Whatever, Peter," Paul snapped.

There was an awkward silence. Peter looked down at all the damage he and Paul had created. The boy and the father both dead. The other two injured and about to have their life cut short.

Paul suddenly smiled a bright smile. "Where are our manners, Tubby? We haven't even given them a chance." He seemed to have returned to his normal self. "It's not a bet if they don't have a chance."

"Yes..." Peter said, slowly. Then he quickly warmed up to the idea. "Yes, we should go. Do you think we should wake them up?"

"No, they'll be fine," said Paul. "Come on, let's get out of here."

And then the two villains just left.

---

Some while later, Victoria groggily opened her eyes. What she saw horrified her to the very center of her core. Her husband and son lay dead on the floor, her daughter unconscious next to them. She tried to sit up, but an intense pain from her legs cut through her and stopped her. She let out a strangled cry.

Then she remembered. The two men; Paul and Peter. _Where are they?_ She asked herself. She listened intently for them. There was no sound in the house. _This is my chance, _she told herself. _The phone in the back room! I didn't tell them about it; it must still be there._

Victoria, painfully and carefully, stood up. It wasn't an easy process, but after a while she managed to do it. Then she hobbled her way out of the living room, down the hallway and into the back room. The back room was the laundry room. Sure enough, sitting there on the washing machine was a black house phone.

She grabbed the phone and dialed 911.

"911. What is your emergency?" the calm, pleasant voice of a woman answered.

"Please, you have to help!" Victoria told the woman. There was panic and fear in her voice. "They killed them! Charles and Noah! They're dead! Paul and Peter, they killed them! I don't know where they went!"

"Please, calm down, ma'am. Tell me your name, where you are, and what happened," the woman said calmly. How could she be so calm in a time like this was beyond Victoria's comprehension.

"My name is Victoria Toney. I live at 32 Elk Road. These two men- Paul and Peter are their names!- came and.." she stopped talking long enough to sob. "...killed my husband and son. I don't know where they went and..." she began sobbing again.

---

"How long should we give them?" Paul asked Peter.

They sat at the kitchen table in dear old Ms. Lawson's house. Blood covered the cheery yellow walls. Ms. Lawson lay on the floor. They hadn't planned on hurting her (after all, there was just no entertainment in two fully grown men killing a handicapped elderly lady) but the tough old crone had resisted more than they thought she would. She wasn't dead, yet, just injured. Her cat "Peaches" on the other hand...

Peter put down the piece of pizza he was eating and checked his watch. "It's four. Only two hours left."

"We should be heading back over there," Paul said, finishing his slice of pizza. He got up and threw the paper plate into the trash can. "And what about her?" he jerked his thumb at Ms. Lawson's twitching body. "This is your turn."

"I'll take care of her as soon as I finish this," said Peter.

Paul stalked over to Peter. "You know, Tubby, I really am getting worried about you. You eat like-" The sound of sirens cut him off. He went over to the window to see what it was.

"Shit!" Paul swore. "The police are at the Toney house!"

Peter dropped the piece of pizza he had just gotten out of the box. "Let's get out of here!" he said, standing up.

Paul nodded. He quickly grabbed a knife and Ms. Lawson's car keys off of the kitchen counter, then he ran over to Ms. Lawson. He plunged the blade straight through her heart.

Together, they ran outside through the back door. They hopped into Ms. Lawson's car, Paul started the engine, and they drove off.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: I know that until now I've stuck to a rigorous two chapters 'Dexter', two chapters 'Funny Games' pattern, but seeing as this story'll be over in the next...eh... approximate five chapters, it's time for the two fandoms to collide in a single chapter. _

_Fun and Games, Chapter Nine_

---

The girl was awake now. She sat in her assigned hospital bed, looking curiously at the four people who had just entered her usually empty hospital room. They were Angel, Deb, Dexter, and Belanger. Angel and Deb, being the lead detectives on the case, had to come. Dexter had come because of his..."hobby". Belanger came because- much to Dexter's quiet frustration- after all, Dexter had "volunteered to help him around".

Debra greeted the girl. "Ms..."Debra looked down at her sheet, "Cheryl Adams. My name is Detective Morgan and this is my partner, Detective Batista. This is Dexter Morgan, blood spatter analyst." Her voice grew a certain sound of agitation. "And this is FBI Agent Belanger."

"Hello," the girl- Cheryl Adams - greeted them.

"Ms. Adams, my colleagues and I have some questions about what happened to you," Debra said. "You don't mind answering them, do you?"

"No, I don't mind answering any questions."

Debra smiled. "Okay, good. Ms. Adams, can you tell us what happened?"

"Darren and I were invited to his parents' vacation home. His aunt and uncle were there as well. We had only been there about a day when this guy- Paul, he said his name was- came over asking for eggs. He said he was staying with the Farbers next door and Ann - that's Ms. Farber- ran out of eggs. Darren's mom, Betsy, let him in." She stopped talking there.

Angel had pulled out a notepad and was jotting all of this down. Debra nodded and asked, "What happened then?"

"He got...weird."

"Weird, how?" Angel asked.

She paused, then said, "First of all, he was dressed oddly."

Angel pressed on. "How so? I know this difficult for you, ma'am, but we want this guy off the streets."  
"Guys, actually," she said. "There are two of them - Peter and Paul."

_So, I was right,_ Dexter thought, _there is a pair. A pair of rotten eggs._

Belanger swallowed the gum that he had been chewing obnoxiously. "There's t-two of them? And what age are they?"

The lines on Cheryl Adams' forehead creased. "How would I know? Twenties, I would guess."

Angel cleared his throat. "Anyway, how were they dressed?"  
" They both wore long-sleeved yellow parkas. Paul had on a long-sleeved white shirt, white shorts, and white shoes. Peter had a short-sleeved white shirt, black shorts, and black shoes. The oddest thing, though, was that they wore white cotton gloves. Gloves covered in blood."

"How else were they weird?"  
"Well, at first there was just the one of them- Paul. But then, out of nowhere, there were two of them. They said their names were Peter and Paul. But they called each other different names. And then they smashed the eggs we had given them, twice. Plus our phone. So Betsy tried to kick them out."

"And how did they respond?"  
"Peter... he smacked her. Across the face; hard. And that's when I hid. "

"Okay, Ms. Adams, a sketch artist will be arriving soon to-" Debra started to say but Angel's cell phone ringing cut her off.  
"It's LaGuerta," he announced. "Okay... okay... no way!" he spoke into the phone. "You'll never guess what's happened!"  
"What?" asked Debra. "What's happened?"  
"A woman called in to 911, saying that two men named 'Paul' and 'Peter' had come to her home and killed her son and husband."

Debra said, "No way! Where is she?"

"She's being brought into the hospital now," Angel replied. "LaGuerta said her name was 'Victoria Toney'."

---

Victoria Toney had been brought into the very same room Cheryl Adams was staying. Alyssa Toney was still in major surgery. There was no hope for either Charles or Noah Toney; they were both dead. But the largest blow to Victoria Toney came when Batista delivered her the news of the results of Alyssa's surgery.

"I'm deeply sorry for your loss," Batista had said. Victoria responded with sobs of grief. Batista patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and left the hospital room.

"So..." Cheryl said from her bed. "What happened to you?" She was unaware that Victoria was the 'other woman' who had called the police about Paul and Peter.

Victoria sighed and looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. "It was a normal day. We had gone out to eat at the nearby diner, to celebrate Charles' promotion at work. Then we drove home, and then...then... he arrived."

"Who arrived?" Cheryl asked.

"Paul."

Cheryl drew in a deep breath._ "Paul? _By chance, was there another man named Peter?"

"Yes..." Victoria said, crinkling her brow. "How do you know that?"

Cheryl began to cry as well. "That's why_ I'm_ in here. They came to our house and they..._murdered_... my boyfriend and my boyfriend's family. Did they come to your house too?"

"Y- yes," Victoria said.

"And did they hurt your family too?

"Yes!" Victoria sobbed. Tears were streaming down both of their faces at this point, pain and despair etched into their faces. "All of them,_ dead_! Noah, Charles, Alyssa..." She deteriorated into a pool of sorrow and crying.

"I'm sorry, Victoria," Cheryl said. "I really am. I-" She broke down weeping as well. There they both lay, each on her own bed, feeling nothing but pain because of Paul and Peter.

---

"Shit!" Paul screamed. He kicked the car he and Peter had stolen from Ms. Lawson. "What are we going to do now, Tubby?!"  
"I've told you to quit calling me Tubby all the time!" responded Peter. "And I don't know what we're going to do now!"

The two had gotten as far as down the road from the Lawson and Toney houses before Ms. Lawson's ancient car had broken down.

"Okay," Paul said, taking deep breaths. "We need to think this through. We're in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere, and the car's dead."

"We can wait for someone to drive along, and then hitchhike," Peter suggested.

Paul nodded his head and the two went over to the side of the road and sat down. There they waited for another car to drive down the road. Finally, a white can came along. Paul sprang to life, leapt up from his slump on the side of the road, and waved the van to a stop.

Inside the van were four people. A man with pitch-black hair and a lot of facial hair; a woman in fashionable-styled overalls with bright blue eye shadow; a man with an eagle necklace and many layers of jackets that left most of his chest exposed; and a sullen-looking teenager in an oversized brown jacket.

"You boys need a ride?" the man who was driving, the man with pitch black hair, asked Peter and Paul.

Paul smiled the most charming smile he could muster. "Yes, sir."


	10. Chapter 10

_Fun and Games, Chapter Ten_

_---_

Paul and Peter sat with the four people in their car. They had introduced themselves as Craig, Frank, Sarah, and Jimmy. Paul had introduced himself as James, and Peter had introduced himself as Doug.

"I'm glad you came along," Paul said, using what he thought was a polite normal voice.

"It's no problem," Craig said from the driver's seat. "It's not like we could have left you on the side of the road." Craig smiled, and Paul returned the smile.

Peter- or 'Doug'- leaned over to Jimmy. "So, umm, where are we going?" he asked Jimmy.

"I don't-" Jimmy said, his voice even quieter than Peter's, "I don't know."

"We're heading up to Scottsdale," Craig said. "Where are you boys headed?"

"Scottsdale is fine," Paul replied. "Well, actually, where are we now?"

"About an hour outside of Miami."

Paul leaned closer to Craig's seat. "Would you be so kind as to pull over? I have to use the bathroom."

Peter gave Paul a skeptical look.

"Alright," Craig said, as he pulled the van over.

Paul climbed out of the van; and Peter followed. Together they went behind a group of nearby trees.

"What are you doing?" asked Peter.

Paul responded, "_We're _going to get rid of these people."

"But why?" Peter asked. "They've been so nice to us so far-"

Paul cut him off, "You know why, Tom."

"Alright," Peter agreed. "What's your plan?"

"Just follow my lead," said Paul. "Hey, Craig?!"

"Yeah?" Craig said, getting out of the van. "What's up?" He went behind the group of trees where Paul and Peter were. "Do you need something-" he started to say, but Paul pulled the knife he kept in his pocket and stabbed him in the chest. Craig took the full force of the knife in his heart. Undaunted, Craig came at Paul. Peter tripped him and Craig fell to the ground. Paul cracked him on the side of the head with his fist.

"Call Frank," Paul demanded Craig.

"Please-"

"Call him _now_!"

"Frank?" Craig called out. "Frank, can you... can you come here?"

Paul passed the knife to Peter. "Your turn, Tubby," Paul muttered under his breath to Peter. Peter took the knife and nodded.

Frank climbed out of the van. "What's up, Craig?" Frank asked.

As he stepped behind the group of trees, Peter grabbed Frank's back with his left hand and stabbed him with the knife in his right hand. Frank tried to push Peter away from him, but Peter held onto him tightly. He stabbed him again. Then Peter kicked him to the ground. Peter bent down and stabbed him five more times and then kicked him in the head.

From the ground, Craig said weakly, "Why... why... you doing this?"

"Oh shut up," Paul said, and kicked him as well. "Hand me the knife, Tom."

Peter obliged and gave Paul the knife. "Here you go, Jerry." Paul crouched down and observed the blood leaking onto Craig's shirt. He stabbed him one final time and then handed the knife back to Peter.

"Finish them off, Tubby," Paul told Peter, "I'm going to go take care of the other two."

Peter asked, "Do you want the knife?" Paul shook his head.

"No," Paul said. "I won't be needing it."

Paul walked out from the group of trees.

"What's going on?" Jimmy asked.

"Nothing, nothing," Paul responded. "Get back in the van."

"But-" Jimmy started, but Paul shoved him towards the van. Jimmy tripped and fell onto the ground.

Paul stood above him. "I told you to get back inside the van!" Paul demanded. "Now get back in the van before Tom or I slit your throat."

Jimmy gave him a hateful look, but got back in the van.

"What's happening?" Sarah asked Paul as he climbed into the van.

"Just shut up, both of you," said Paul. "Or else."

At that moment, Peter came out from behind the group of trees and got into the van. Paul figured that he must be done with Frank and Craig.

"Hand me the knife, Tom," Paul said. Peter did so. "Alright, you two," Paul said to Jimmy and Sarah. "Tubby and I are in charge now." He jabbed the point of the knife at them.

"What's going on?!" Sarah spluttered. "Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

Paul leaned forward and punched her in the face. "_Be quiet._"

---

The MDPD were having yet another board meeting. On the screen were an artist's sketches of Paul and Peter.

"Paul Kaheen," LaGuerta said. "Born April 10, 1981. His brother, Peter Kaheen, born August 17, 1988. Their parents, Michael and Susanne Kaheen died on August 17, 2002. They were murdered; stabbed to death. After that, Paul and Peter fell off of the map."

"LaGuerta," an uniformed officer said, walking into the room. "A car was just found a few miles down from the Toney's home. It belongs to a next door neighbour, a Ms. 'Reda Lawson'. So we went to her house."

"And?" LaGuerta asked.

"Dead," the uniform said. "Both her and her cat."

Batista spoke, "So the Kaheen brothers are at the Toney's. Why would they just leave when there were still two family members alive?"

Debra shook her head. "You're right. It doesn't make any sense."

LaGuerta looked at Belanger. "Any ideas, Agent Belanger?" she asked him. Belanger looked like he was in a sort of trance or shock. His profile of the 'Lakeside Murderer' (_Lakeside Murderers , more like, _Dexter thought) had been completely off. Everyone at MDPD had already known he was completely full of it, but now Belanger himself realized it. But Belanger still had one last trick up his sleeve.

Belanger shook his head. "Only one thing, Lieutenant LaGuerta," he said.

"What, Agent?"

"Why did you tell the press about the Lakeside Murders?" he asked. Belanger smiled at LaGuerta. "Yes, Lieutenant, I know about that. After all, it is my job to profile people. I might not be able to with people I've never met, but I can when it's right in front of me." He stood up. "By the way," said Belanger, as he walked to the door to leave, "I'll make sure Captain Matthews knows." He reached the doorway. Belanger turned around, and in front of everyone- Debra, Masuka, Batista, Dexter, random uniformed officers and members of MDPD- said, "You know, Maria, you really are a nasty piece of work." And then Agent Belanger left for good.

LaGuerta looked down at the floor, ashamed.

Batista asked, "Maria, you're the one who told the press?"

LaGuerta nodded, her face burning.

"Why?" Batista asked.

LaGuerta shook her head and left the room through the same door as Belanger. Batista followed after her.

Then followed an awkward silence. Masuka broke it by saying, "Whoa, awkward, huh?"

Debra rolled her eyes.

_This isn't getting us any closer to finding them! _Dexter thought.He headed toward the door.

"Where are you going Dex?" Debra called, but Dexter ignored her and continued out the door. "Dex?!" She called again, but he was already gone. And he was ready to kill.

---


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's Note: After much hiatus, 'Fun and Games' is back!_

_Fun and Games, Chapter Eleven_

"We truly are sorry," said Paul. "Honestly." He and Peter both smiled.

Sarah glared at them. She and Jimmy were bound but not gagged, teetering at the edge of death. Stab wounds covered their chests and arms.

"But Tom and I have to escape. Running from the police, and all. I'm sure you understand," said Paul. "Would you like to do the honors, Tom, or should I?"

"I'll do it," Peter said. Paul held out the knife, and Peter took it almost ceremoniously. He knelt down next to Sarah and said in his quiet voice, "We really are sorry." The knife rose high above his head, and then came flashing down and straight through Sarah's chest. She let out a strangled cry, too much blood filling her airways to scream properly.

Jimmy made up for it by screaming the loudest scream both Paul and Peter had ever heard. Paul clapped. "Bravo, Jimmy! Very good," Paul said enthusiastically. "Now, let me get rid of her."

Peter gave Paul the knife. "Have fun, butt-head," said Peter softly.

Paul laughed. "I will."

Dexter drove down the road, pushing his car to the max, and swerving around other cars recklessly. He was heading to 32 Elk Road; the Toney house. There had to be clues there that led to the location of The Lakeside Murderers.

Finally, Dexter reached the house. Using what he, LaGuerta, and the others at the MDPD had found, he mentally traced the path Paul and Peter had taken. _They started here, _he thought as he looked up at the Toney household.

He got back into his car and drove to Ms. Lawson's house. _And then went here. They took the car and drove __–__ where?_

He climbed into his car once again, and drove down Elk Road slowly, looking for any clue.

And that's when he saw it! A small, older-looking car sat abandoned on the side of the road. Dexter pulled over. He opened the car door and peered inside, inspecting the inside of the car.

_They were here, _he thought._ But where are they now?_

"Tubby, hand me your handkerchief," demanded Paul. "I need to clean off this knife."

Peter obliged and gave Paul his handkerchief. With the handkerchief, Paul wiped the knife. The blood from the knife dirtied the white handkerchief; Peter looked disgustedly at the once-clean handkerchief.

After Paul could see the silver glint of the knife again, he gave the handkerchief back to Peter.

"It's filthy now," Peter complained.

Paul didn't answer. Instead, he turned around and looked disdainfully at the bodies on the ground. Sarah was definitely dead, but Jimmy still was - barely - breathing.

"Hmm..." said Paul. "What do you think we should do with them?"

Peter shrugged noncommittally.

Paul continued, "Just leave her?"

Peter nodded, and, once again, gave no definite answer.

"But what about him?"

Finally, Peter spoke. "We could take him with us. In case the police find us. And - we haven't given him a fair chance to live, yet."

Paul smiled. "That's true." He walked over to where Jimmy lay on the ground. He kicked Jimmy in the side, and then said, "Hey! Get up!"

Jimmy just looked up at Paul with bloodied eyes. Paul pursed his lips and kicked Jimmy in the side again. Jimmy vomited. It was a disgusting mix; spit, vomit, and Jimmy's own blood.

Paul and Peter looked disgusted. "All right," Paul said, "I've been left with no choice; I'll have to pull you up myself." Paul leaned over, grabbed Jimmy by the back of his brown jacket, and yanked him upwards. Jimmy started to slump over, but Paul held him in place. "Stand on your own two feet," Paul demanded. Wobbly, Jimmy complied.

"Run," Paul commanded. Jimmy took off - well, he began moving - deeper into the forest. The white-gloved duo watched him for a bit, and then Paul said, "Go get the crowbar from the van."

"Crowbar?"

"I saw one. It was at the very back of the van."

Peter shrugged and went to the van. He opened the back door and bent over to look for the crowbar. That's when Peter felt the prick of Dexter's syringe enter his neck. He didn't feel it for long though, because the syringe contained just enough to make him slump over. Peter fell into the back of the van, his face landing right next to the crowbar.

Paul waited. Where was Peter? Surely he should have been back by now. Paul sighed and looked at the part of the woods Jimmy had run into. He had had his chance to escape; any longer wasn't allowed. He had to go see what was wrong with Tubby.

Paul strolled away from the clearing and the woods. When he reached where the van was, he noticed Dexter starting his car - and in the backseat, barely visible, was an unconscious Peter.

"Hey!" Paul shouted. "What are you doing?"

Dexter finished starting the car and sped away. Not wanting to lose Peter, Paul climbed into the van, started it and followed after Dexter.

Dexter wove through lanes of traffic, trying to lose Paul, who was right on his tail. He accelerated and made a sharp turn onto an off-ramp. He looked behind him; Paul was nowhere to be seen. He had lost him. Dexter sighed to himself. He would go to somewhere desolate, set up some plastic sheets quickly (not too quickly, though; he had to be careful about this), and finish off Peter. He would worry about Paul later.


	12. Chapter 12

_Fun and Games, Chapter 12_

_Last chapter, finally!_

Peter opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was that he was surrounded by plastic. It covered the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. He tried to sit up to see what was going on, but he couldn't move his muscles. He couldn't even look down. He looked down at his body as much as he could. He figured he was lying on some sort of table, tied down with plastic.

Dexter stood above him, staring down at Peter's tied figure in that way only Dexter can. His familiar scalpel was in his hand. He dragged the sharp edge against Peter's right cheek.

"Where's Paul?" Peter asked, only to be silenced by Dexter.

"You've caused a lot of people a lot of pain," Dexter said. He grabbed Peter's neck and forced him to look at the wall. There were pictures of all the victims Dexter could find pinned to the wall. "That's not all of them. There's more, isn't there?"

Then, Dexter grabbed a knife from his kill kit. He raised the knife high into the air. As it came soaring down, Peter weakly said one word, "Paul", and then it was over. Peter was dead.

Peter was dead. Peter was dead. That was the only thing on Paul's mind. They had lost the game. He had pulled the car to the side of the road and just sat there, stunned.

Then he smiled. The game wasn't lost entirely - he still had one trick up his sleeve. Sure, it was cheating, but he had to ensure Tubby lived.

Paul reached under the seat and pulled out a remote control. Then, he pushed the rewind button.

"Dex!" came the loud voice of Dexter's sister, Debra. She was standing at the door to Dexter's blood lab.

_What now? _thought Dexter. Dexter swiveled his chair around to face her. "Yeah, Deb?" he asked.

"We're having a dispatch meeting. LaGuerta says you have to be there," she said. Dexter got out of his chair and followed her to the dispatch room.

LaGuerta was standing at the front of the room, next to the screen. "Everyone here?" she asked when she saw Debra and Dexter enter the room. She nodded slightly as if agreeing with herself. "We can begin." "Last night, the 7-Eleven on 8th Street was robbed. The suspect is Greg Harris, born..."

Paul and Peter sat in a car outside of a small diner, waiting and watching the front door of the building.

Neither of them spoke. Then, something caught Peter's eye. A family of four - a mom, dad, and two children, a boy and a girl that both looked about twelve. "Look what's over there." Peter said, pointing in the direction of the family. "Can that be next?"

Paul frowned. "I don't think we should, Tom. It could prove... dangerous... to your health."

The family of four got into their blue minivan and drove off, the only car on the road. As that was happening, a group of six college-aged students was coming out of the diner. The males in the pack were obviously drunk, two of them whooping loudly while the third threw his arm around one of the girls. Regardless, they got into their car and began swerving down the road.

Paul started the car and followed after them. He turned to Peter and smiled. "Tom, it's time for some fun and games."

-fin-


End file.
